


So go on and do not stop

by silveronthetree



Category: Biggles Series - W. E. Johns
Genre: M/M, wwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveronthetree/pseuds/silveronthetree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the events of the short story 'The Great Arena' from <i>Biggles of the Camel Squadron</i>, the members of 266 Squadron spend an evening trying to trick German intelligence into thinking they are "as green as grass and over in France for the first time" before acting as bait to even the odds and put a stop the slaughter of new pilots by the Von Doering circus. In the original story the events of that evening were barely touched upon, so here is what might have happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So go on and do not stop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kindkit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindkit/gifts).



> Warning: This story deals with the effects of combat on First World War pilots in a similar form to the books it was based on, which were originally written for a young audience.

When ten experienced pilots from Squadron No. 266 RFC landed at Marquise on a late summer's day in 1918, they weren't themselves. Algy Lacey, the youngest of them, slipped off his gloves and pushed up his salt-stained goggles the instant he landed. What was perfect to wear high over the Channel wasn't at all suited to ground level on a roasting hot summer's day. He brushed away his long sweaty hair from his forehead, tossed his gloves into the depths of the cockpit and grinned at Biggles, his Flight Commander, who'd landed just before him. Biggles, or more formally, Captain James Bigglesworth M.C., had already jumped out of his Camel and was divesting himself of his heavy flying coat to reveal a brand-new, squeaky-belted uniform. 

That new uniform was all part of the "game" they were taking part in, and Algy was wearing one too. It was loose around the shoulders and felt very different to his usual tailored, war-stained uniform. He wasn’t sure where the new uniforms came from. They'd only received their orders last night and his batman had laid the uniform out for him before their dawn flight. 

***

This had all started the previous night, when Algy was sitting outside the mess at 266 Squadron's aerodrome at Maranique. To all appearances he was idly glancing over last week's paper, with a glass of whisky to hand, catching the very last of the evening's sun. If he looked up he would just be able to see the tarmac of the airfield where the other pilots would return from their patrols. There was only one pilot due back, Biggles, who had gone up for a quick test flight following some repairs to his machine. That had been almost half an hour ago, far, far longer than it should have taken. If asked Algy wouldn't have been able to describe the contents of the page that had been open in front of him since he sat down. He was staring at his paper blankly and he occasionally looked up to squint in the direction of the setting sun. The contents of his glass remained undrunk as he focussed listening for the sound of Biggles engine, half-unconsciously tapping his fingers against the glass. He'd been in France long enough to know what could happen to pilots as tired as Biggles. 

Algy wasn't the only one outside. He could see the Squadron's Commanding Officer, Major Mullen standing on the tarmac, with the other flight commanders, Maclaren and Mahoney. They were talking with Colonel Raymond from Wing headquarters, who'd turned up shortly after Biggles had taken off. 

Algy heard the thrum of the distinctive sound of Biggles' engine long before he could make out the shape of a plane against the setting sun. Algy's heart lifted as he realised that it was a Camel coming in to land. 

Biggles looked preoccupied when he got out of the plane, but he was walking smoothly and was clearly uninjured, a thoughtful set to his shoulders. So Algy breathed a mental sigh of relief. As soon as he got out the officers waiting on the tarmac approached him. There was a short discussion and then Biggles stalked away along with Mac and Mahoney. None of them looked happy and Algy braced himself for an unpleasant job, which was so often the case when Raymond was involved.

Algy set down his paper and drink on the makeshift table next to him, and was just about to wander over to Biggles. Instead Biggles spotted him and headed straight over, Algy could see the grim look on his worn out face. 

As soon as Biggles reached Algy, he grabbed Algy's whisky and drank it down in one go. Algy didn't think to protest, it wasn't as if he'd really wanted it., Biggles quickly outlined the plan in a series of short sharp statements. "There's a circus of Huns targeting new pilots on their first flight to their aerodrome. They've done it four times and we've orders to put a stop to it. Ten of us will go to Marquise and pretend we've just flown over from Blighty for the first time. They think Marquise is where the leak is. Then we wait for the Huns to take the bait." He paused and then looked straight at Algy, "C Flight is taking the rear." 

Biggles didn't have to say any more. Algy knew exactly how vulnerable that made them. "Ten of us against thirty Huns?" Algy asked, to be sure.

Biggles nodded. "I hope the C.O. knows what he's doing," he said with a scowl. "He's leading us, so I can't but follow him, however crazy it may be." Biggles didn’t stop pacing.

Algy shook his head in astonishment, but he wasn't really surprised. Sometimes their orders made no sense.

"We won't make it as easy for them as the raw pilots and hopefully we'll take some of 'em with us. Sometimes I wonder if the brass-hats ever think!" Biggles complained, a bitter edge to his voice. He sat down in the deck chair next to Algy.

"It’s a damn fool idea," Algy agreed. He hated to hear that note in Biggles' voice. "I bet we'll take a lot of them with us though." Algy knew that they'd volunteer for as task like this in a heartbeat but being ordered to do it was another matter. They would of course do their duty and hopefully make things better for the next set of airmen to come along. "Did you ask them why?" 

"The leader, Von Doering is a better pilot than most, and I told Raymond that we were in for a warm time with those odds and all he did was agree." Biggles shook his head in despair. I suppose the current push means that there just aren't any more available pilots." He sighed. "It's an odd thing…" he trailed off and didn't continue. 

"You think we'll be able to keep up the charade while we’re at Marquise?" Algy asked. He wasn't that sure of his own acting talents and had serious misgivings about the ability of the squadron as a whole to pretend that it was their first day in France. Not everyone had the experience with intelligence work that Biggles had gained in Palestine, at least as far as he knew. 

"We'll be fine as long as we don't run into anyone we know," Biggles said with a sigh. "I could do with an evening off. This push has been going on forever."

He stood up. "Oh well, early to bed now, as the C.O. ordered. I hope Cowley hasn't turned in yet, I can never get to sleep with his snoring. I'd better find the Professor and let him know first. Who knows, he might even have some invention that could even the odds." Biggles said, with a sarcastic laugh. 

Algy waved him off from his seat in the deckchair. "Good night."

***

After landing in Marquise the next day, Algy realised that it had been a long while since they'd had such a quiet flight. Algy could see that the sheer pleasure of flying had left Biggles looking lighter that he had in a long while, he was almost smiling. They hadn't run into anyone, as most of their route had kept them far over their own side of the lines, and they hadn't spent too much time coming in over the Channel as if from England. Their C.O., Major Mullen, had given them orders not to interfere with anything going on in the air but Algy was sure that he'd been about to turn and rescue an old BE2c being stalked by a lone Albatross. However when the pilot of the enemy plane saw the formation of Camels he left of his own accord.

The rest of the squadron were going about the usual business after landing; removing flying kit and checking their machines, except for the other member of Algy's flight, Henry Watkins. "The Professor", as they usually called him, was looking around the aerodrome as if he'd never seen anything like it before. His round face was alight with interest as he took in the details of all the machines around them and the ack-emmas and fitters working on them. Algy wasn't quite sure whether he was acting or not.

Major Mullen was the first to leave their planes on the ground and he walked across the tarmac as if he owned it. He saluted precisely as he reached an officer who'd risen to greet him from his seat on a campstool by the main entrance to the station headquarters. The Major introduced himself and the squadron with a textbook imitation of a pompous by-the-book type of officer, freshly arrived in France. 

Seeing his normally quiet, calm C.O. puffed up with his own importance was so unexpected that Algy nudged Biggles with glee, barely managing to keep a straight face. 

"Hidden depths!" Biggles whispered, shaking his head, eyebrows raised, but he didn't smile.

The officer commanding the station took it all in his stride. "Drop your kit in those huts over there and pick a bed. I'm afraid it's a little crowded at the moment so you'll have to make do. Join us in the mess when you're done." He pointed at a squat building with a corrugated iron roof, beyond their machines. "We should be able to find you a hot meal." 

Algy pricked up his ears at that. He'd been rather upset to miss the roast back in Maranique because they'd had to fly over lunch and all they'd had was the customary early breakfast was hard boiled eggs.

"We like to give you boys a good welcome on your first day in France," the officer said, with small smile. 

There was a muffled, "and probably their last, poor buggers" from behind him, Biggles clearly caught it too and looked determined. 

***

By the time the ten members of 266 Squadron were ensconced in the mess at Marquise eating a very late lunch, Algy could see that Biggles' light mood had well and truly left him. The strain of the pretence removed all the good the flight had done. He was fiddling incessantly with the neck of his tunic again. Algy badly wanted to take hold of his fingers to still their movement but he couldn't. The squadron had bagged a table in a corner of the mess and they were tucking into a rather decent steak and kidney pie with the enthusiasm of people who hadn't had food that good in a while. If they'd been freshly over in France it would probably be true. The chatter about the table was loud, as they declared how excited they all were to finally see the front. The light-hearted air around the table wasn't entirely pretence in several cases, Mahoney, who was sitting next to Algy, confided that this was a welcome break from the constant offensive patrols and trench strafing of the past few weeks.

The doors of the mess were wide open in an attempt to bring in some cool air. It wasn't working and Algy desperately wanted to at least loosen the collar of his uniform jacket like some of the others here but someone as new to the uniform as he was pretending to be probably wouldn't do that. He would've been able to if they'd been at home at Maranique. Algy cut short that line of thought because if they'd been home they'd probably be flying a patrol right now. 

As the meagre remains of their meal were cleared away, the table began to break up as they started to mingle with the other officers in the mess and really do their job. Mahoney got up on the pretext of stretching his legs and soon after his place was filled by a pilot from 445 Squadron, on his way back from leave. 

"First time over?" he asked after a glance at Algy's uniform.

Algy nodded, with a wide grin and they started to chat, Algy telling him all about his flight training school and how much he'd enjoyed learning to fly. 

"You'll find things very different out here," the pilot from 445 said. 

Algy agreed. "Even the air in over here smells different!" He said opening his eyes as wide as he could, in an attempt to simulate astonishment. 

There was laughter all-round the table which had been filled by unfamiliar officers joining them. The pilot from 445 pointed out, "That's probably the artillery, laddie."

Algy didn't even have to pretend to flush. He shot a glance at Biggles, who was sat in the corner opposite Algy, fingers never idle, playing with his cigarette case. He was trying to keep his eyes down but he scanned the room constantly. Biggles caught Algy's gaze, visibly shook himself and turned towards his neighbours to join in the conversation. 

"It’s good to be here finally," Blythe, the slim Canadian pilot in Mahoney's flight, drawled to a stocky Captain. "Both my brothers came over at the start and I've been waiting to come over and do my part." 

"I'm jolly glad to have left England too," Biggles agreed, "I was starting to worry that everything would be over before I arrived." It rang false to Algy, but their companion was nodding along with him so maybe it was just that he knew Biggles well. Biggles did receive a rather strange look from a ferry pilot Algy had been introduced to before they'd eaten, a lanky chap with curly hair escaping from its brilliantine. Algy was a little concerned, but the man didn't say anything.

Algy looked around the room, the Professor was sketching diagrams and equations on a napkin as two pilots and an equipment officer looked on in amusement. The C.O. was having a long conversation by the bar but kept catching Algy's eye whenever he looked over. He was obviously paying attention to his men.

Maclaren got up and indicated that he was off to the bar. 

"A ginger ale for young Algy!" Biggles called to Maclaren, "and a beer for me."

I'm never going to live that one down, Algy thought, but it was good to be teased by Biggles. He'd deliberately left drink choices out of his impersonation of his green-as-grass self, he really wanted something stronger. Maclaren must've caught his disappointment because he came back with both a beer and an ice cold bottle of ginger ale that Algy gratefully used to cool down. 

"We'll see if we can tempt you to take something stronger," Mac said. 

The whole table, especially Biggles looked a little envious at Algy's sigh of pleasure at the cool drink. And he saw a few more bottles of ginger ale and lemonade appearing. Algy wondered where they had been storing them. A cellar or a stream? He missed the stream at Maranique, where they'd bathed to keep cool during what little free time they had in the last few weeks.

Raised voices to Algy's left caught his attention. The Professor's companions had started to look thoughtful and one of them was now discussing something animatedly as he picked up the napkin and started adding his own notes. The Professor often had good ideas but mathematics was never Algy's strong point and while he usually couldn't make head or tale of them, he was glad someone did.

The conversations ebbed and flowed around Algy and he sipped his drink and watched the dust motes float in the bright sunlight. He caught a snipped of conversation, Biggles, who had shot down twelve Huns, was asking a pilot who'd been out here for a few weeks for advice. "I've been waiting for a chance to learn things first-hand from someone who's flown out here."

"No one does that," Maclaren said softly to Algy, his scepticism apparent on his face. "They'll never believe it."

"That's how Biggles and I met," Mahoney interjected from behind them. "I'd just returned from leave, and that's pretty much word for word what he asked me on the boat over here." He gave a low laugh, "It seems to have worked out for him and I wish to God more of them did that."

It was the first time Algy had heard that story but it made sense. Biggles was always the sort to gather as much information as he could. Not that he didn't jump in with both feet, or both wings, sometimes, but that background knowledge ensured success. It was often the opposite of Algy's approach, which was to rush ahead like a bull; he attributed his survival to blind luck and the occasional ability to listen to reason. 

When Algy looked back up at Biggles, the curly-haired ferry pilot was sitting near him and he'd struck up a conversation. Biggles, and Blythe were explaining how they'd come to the RFC. Biggles was still fidgeting with his cigarette case but he was pretending enthusiasm successfully enough until the ferry pilot asked, "So where did you get your M.C.?"

Algy's heart stopped, and he could see Biggles freeze, but Biggles didn't hesitate for long and just laughed awkwardly, with his eyes lowered. He sounded like he was being modest.

Algy leaned towards them to interrupt but Mahoney started a rambling (and Algy was pretty certain, fictional) tale about a girl he'd met in Newhaven and the ferry pilot closed his mouth on his next question. The conversation segued to Mahoney gleefully explaining how he'd beat Mac in a stunting contest. "We devised this sequence of stunts, all sorts of loops and rolls, ending with a dive, the winner was the last one to pull up," Mahoney explained. "I won a bottle of champagne. Most of it ended up spraying the ceiling," he added sadly.

"The Huns won't know what hit 'em!" Mac declared.

Algy was pretty sure everyone in the mess could hear that. It had the desired effect as a distraction and the ferry pilot had started to offer descriptions of his own stunts. 

Biggles joined in the laughter and if it had a high pitched edge caused by the near miss, Algy was beginning to realise that he was the only one who noticed.

"It isn't a game kid," the ferry pilot said, but he smiled and accepted a drink Algy handed him and the crisis seemed to have been diverted. 

Shortly after, Biggles excused himself and Algy saw him making his way outside and followed. He found Biggles leaning against the side of a hanger in the shadows, cigarette in hand. He nodded slowly at Algy as he approached and offered him the cigarette.

Algy took a drag and exhaled. "You know, I think this is the first time I've ever hoped there was a spy about," he murmured.

Biggles snorted and quirked his lip, taking the cigarette back. 

Algy was pleased with that reaction. He loosened the buttons on his tunic so that it hung open and breathed a sigh of relief

"You think we convinced them?" Biggles asked softly. "I had a bit of a sticky moment, but I think I covered it. It was this damn M.C." He looked down at the ribbon and the fingers adjusting the neck of his tunic stopped for a moment.

"I think it worked. That ferry pilot seemed to be intent on drinking himself into a stupor when I left and I don't think anyone else really paid it any matter."

"I hope so." Biggles ran his hands through his hair making it stick up in all directions. "This damn war…"

Algy waited for him to continue but Biggles fell silent. 

They stood in silence for a while, passing the cigarette back and forth. Algy could hear the sound of voices and laughter in the mess and the sound of engines being tested from the hangars. From the sounds of it, the fitters and mechanics wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight 

He tilted his head back against the wall. "Time to turn in?" he asked. 

Biggles nodded and dropped the cigarette, ground it out with his heel and followed Algy to their quarters.

***

Back in their quarters, Biggles lit a candle and they got ready for bed in silence. Algy stripped off completely in an effort to keep cool. They'd unpacked what they'd needed of their kits just after they'd arrived and Biggles and Algy had been assigned the only two beds tucked in a windowless and consequently boiling hot room at one end of the building. The hut was quiet and Algy wondered if anyone else was asleep yet. Algy longed for a bath. A swift wash in lukewarm water hadn't really cut it and he still felt grimy. There were rumours of a bath in the nearest town but they'd had work to do here and he been able to find out anything about a river nearby. 

He lay down on top of the covers of his camp bed and watched through half-closed eyes as Biggles arranged his bed to his satisfaction, flinging off most of the bedding. The candlelight threw strange shadows against the walls. He was trying to forget that they were alone together. 

To his surprise Biggles didn't get into his own bed as usual but perched on the edge of Algy's bed, threatening to overset it until Algy adjusted his weight to compensate. 

Algy turned to face him.

"There's something I didn't mention before." Biggles said. "You know I was late back yesterday?" 

"Yes." Algy didn't want to think about how worried he'd been. 

"Well, I was late because I ran into the man we're after tomorrow, Von Doering."

Algy jumped and raised himself half to sitting position. "What?"

"Shhh!" Biggles said, and Algy subsided back down onto his pillow. "He's a good pilot. That's why this whole thing's so rotten. My guns jammed while we were in the dogfight and he could've taken me down but he didn't."

Algy lay there gaping. He could feel yet more sweat trickling down his back.

"He spared my life yesterday. I just don't understand why someone who'd do that would also do something like this," Biggles said, almost plaintively. "He must be a rum chap. I supposed he could just be following orders but it still doesn't excuse…" 

"Well, I for one, am very glad that he did that," Algy interrupted, with a smile. "But it doesn't make a damned bit of difference about tomorrow." Algy was very glad that Von Doering had spared Biggles' life yesterday. So very glad. But he wouldn't have any mercy for a dirty, raw-pilot-murdering pig, and that's exactly what it was, murder. The brass-hats were sending lambs to the slaughter as long as he'd been out there, but that seemed to be par for the course in this war.

"I know." Biggles fell silent again. Algy was almost used to Biggles' silences now. 

He could hear the voices of the others getting ready for sleep in the room next door, the Professor's excited voice raised above the rest.

Algy took advantage of their rare privacy and laid his hand on Biggles', where it was fisted in the sheets at the edge of the bed. Algy could see the muscles of his shoulders flexing and contracting as Biggles clenched his fists. 

"Kids like Batson and young Tom Ellis and all those who were slaughtered by Von Doering," Biggles said, after a while. "It’s such a bloody shame." The shadows of tiredness under his eyes were even more pronounced in the candlelight.

Algy let himself stroke Biggles' hand. It didn't have the soothing effect he'd intended. Instead Biggles grabbed his hand and held on with desperation, twisting to face Algy. Algy sat up and they stared at each other for what felt like a long time, Biggles still clutching his hand.

Algy started to speak, "Biggles, I…" and with a choked gasp, Biggles embraced him, pressing his damp chest to Algy's and lowering his face to his.

*** 

The next morning Algy opened his eyes to see Biggles almost smiling, as he shook Algy awake. "Wake up, laddie. We're going to get him today. Let's beat those odds." He sat down on his still untidy bed, across the room, and sprawled there, waiting for Algy to rise.

Algy grinned back at him. He could see the adventurous light back in Biggles' eyes. If anyone could make a success of this, it would be Biggles. He dragged himself out of bed and went to prepare for the morning's work. 

The End


End file.
